Fight of Your Life
by carlypotter
Summary: TWD x Hunger Games crossover. Characters from TWD pitted against each other in a deadly arena dreamed up by the Capitol. Who will be tougher than you expect? Who will be weak and succumb to fear? But most importantly: who will win? M for gory content, explicit language.
1. Reaped

Chapter 1

"Bethy, it's time to wake up."

I opened my eyes and sighed as my mom woke me up. "Okay, ma." Rubbing my eyes, I got out of bed. My mom had let me sleep in, a sign of how different today was. At this time of year, everyone over the age of 12 was up at the crack of dawn to work in the lovely grain fields of District 9.

But not today. Today was reaping day. The day where two unlucky families got to watch their children sentenced to death, picked as a tribute in the Hunger Games.

It could be any one of us.

I hoped it wasn't me. My odds were good – as a 16-year-old, my name was only put in the draw 5 times. Five slips out of thousands. I was lucky enough that I didn't need to take out tesserae.

We had a simple breakfast of bread, goats cheese and basil leaves. Today was one of the very few days where the whole family – my parents, me, and my brother Tommy, who's only eight, got to eat together. They were usually working – my mom a harvester, and my dad a farmer – and with the exception of harvest season, Tommy and I were at school. Most days, my parents left for work before Tommy and I woke up. I was responsible for getting him ready and off to school.

"How're you feelin?" Tommy asked me while we were eating.

"'M alright," I told him.

We all finished up, and I helped my mom clear the table. The bell rang right after we finished off the dishes, reminding citizens that it was time to report to the city square. We all had to get registered before the reaping began. In addition to selecting the next tributes from District 9, the reaping was a perfect way to keep tabs on the population.

My family doesn't live far from the square, but even so it took us ten minutes to get to the Justice Centre. The crowds were filling in already.

"Alright, I have to go get registered and stand with everyone else now," I told Tommy. I bent down to give him a hug. I had to go stand with the other girls who were eligible for the reaping. We weren't allowed to stay with our families. I gave my parents a quick hug and kiss on the cheek too, then the three of them went to find somewhere to stand. Unfortunately, attendance was mandatory. They wouldn't have stuck around otherwise.

It takes a while for everyone to get situated. But when our mayor, past victors and Capitol escort Mercedes Quicksilver appear on stage, a hush falls over the crowd. It's time to begin.

The mayor begins with his usual recital of the Treaty of Treason, and gives a brief history of Panem. How we rose out of the ashes of a once-great place called North America, how the districts had rebelled against the Capitol and been crushed, and the resulting Hunger Games.

We were now in the seventy third year of the Hunger Games. Out of these years, we'd had maybe four victors. The two still living, Athena and Jason, served as mentors to every years tributes.

Mercedes is dressed in a ridiculous bright orange skirt and flowery shirt. Her high heels match her skirt, which does nothing for the look. She hobbles over to the podium after she is introduced. "Welcome, welcome, everybody!" she pipes in her ridiculous Capitol accent. "Let's begin, shall we? Ladies first!" She walks over to the glass ball containing thousands of girls names, and carefully draws one out. She seems to deliberately slow her pace as she totters back to the microphone.

Mercedes clears her throat before she reads the name, and tension soars throughout the crowd.

The name is all too familiar. I've been hearing it for all of my 16 years. Sixteen years that would be coming to a very short, very violent end in a matter of weeks.

"Beth Greene, you are District 9's next female tribute!"

A death sentence. Being chosen in the reaping is nothing short of a death sentence, unless you're tremendously lucky.

I wasn't. I was going to die.

A path clears for me and I feel myself walking to the stage. I don't dare look back, where I can hear the screams and cries of my family, for fear that I will lose what little control I am commanding.

Mercedes barley offers me a handshake before she is off to pick the next tribute, a "Glenn Rhee." He's a few years ahead of me in school. He must be 18, his final year in the reaping. He was so close to making it out. But he won't.

Neither of us will.


	2. Goodbye

_A/N Hey guys! I hoped you liked my intro. This story is going only as far as the ending of the Games so I'm expecting it to be not much longer than 10 chapters, but I'll do my best to make a good story. I'm home from university right now and I'll be super busy when I go back in January, so I'll try my best to finish up the story before then. Thanks for reading!_

I'm in a state of shock as I'm whisked off the stage and into the Justice Centre. I have an hour to get myself together and say goodbyes to my family. Surely they'll come see me before long. Other than them, I don't expect anyone to visit.

But I'm surprised when a few of the girls I'd just been standing with minutes ago, along with some of the boys I know from my year in school, come in the room. They don't stay long, just long enough to say that they're sorry and good luck in the Games. They're not really sorry; they're obviously relieved that it wasn't them. But the thought of having sympathy is nice.

My family comes in as soon as they leave. My mom is a wreck, barely able to breathe through her sobs. I wrap her in a hug. "Mom, it's okay," I tell her. "I'm going to be okay." I'm not foolish enough to believe that I will get a quick and painless death in the arena, but my words bring my mother comfort.

I hug my bawling brother, stoke his hair until his cries are reduced to sniffles. "None of that," I say as I give him a poke in the belly. "You be strong for me."

He looks up at me, eyes threatening to tear up all over again. "Wi-will you come back?" he asks me. The pleading tone in his voice throws a wrench into my gut.

"I'm going to try to," I tell him. "But if I don't, you remember that I love you all, okay?" He nods.

No words are spoken between me and my dad except for "I love you." He gives me a tight hug and then, too soon, a peacekeeper – the watchdogs sent to us from the Capitol – is coming in and ushering them out. The last thing they hear me say to them is that I love them.

No one else visits me.

I know the hour is up when the peacekeeper returns. "It's time for the send off, Ms. Greene," he says. Ah, the send off. One last chance to see your tributes in the flesh before we die. I'll be ushered to the train station by a whole host of guards, and sent on my way to the Capitol. As far as I'm concerned, this is a one-way trip. There won't be any coming back.

I try to take in each detail I can on the ride to the train station. I'm going to miss my district – it isn't much at all, but it's home. A home that, unless I'm really lucky, I won't see again.

Neither me or Glenn have been on a train before – travel between districts doesn't happen, unless it's for an official purpose – so the whole experience is new to us. The lavish train is easily the nicest thing I've ever seen – full with plush carpets, large chandeliers and fancy

The Capitol food is something else. I'm lucky in that I rarely go hungry, but there is no way the food in District 9 can compare.

I suppose the Capitol expects us to be grateful for letting us experience a little luxury before they send us to our deaths.

After I eat, I go back to the train car that serves as my room.

I don't sleep, but spend the night thinking of what's yet to come.


	3. Welcome

_A/N Hey everybody! I know it's been a while but here I am all ready with a new update for you. I hope you enjoy!_

I arrive at the Capitol the next day. The videos we see on our old television sets don't do the city justice; the colours that paint the city are so much more vivid in real life. There's so much to take in – the bright greens, yellows and pinks that cover the city roads and buildings, and the residents of the Capitol themselves.

We're greeted by a huge crowd of them. All screaming, chanting our names. With any luck, some of them will like us enough to become our sponsors once the Games begin. Sponsors give your mentor money – money they can use to give you life saving supplies in the arena. Without sponsors, chances of survival are dire.

With that being said, I can't help but hate them.

"We're going to stop directly in front of the Training Centre," my mentor Annette says. "You'll be met by your prep teams and you'll spend the rest of the day with your stylist getting ready for the tribute parade." The tribute parade happens in the city square. We're dressed up in silly costumes and paraded around on chariots, so the citizens can get a good view of us.

"Do you know what I'll be wearing?" I ask her.

"No," she replies. "But we have a new stylist this year, Gerard. I think he'll come up with something good for you." I hope so. Being from the grain district, our costumes are usually horrendous. One year, our tributes were covered in nothing but chaff.

That reassures me. "Thanks," I tell her.

"Today is going to be tough, but just try to grit your teeth and get through it." I nod, and with that we stop. We've reached the Training Centre, my home until the Games.

My prep team doesn't waste a second. As soon as they meet me, they begin scrubbing me down with countless soaps, oils and moisturizers. My nails are filed and painted a nice neutral brown. They talk to me the whole time, asking tons of questions. Eventually they are satisfied with their work and leave.

My stylist, Gerard, comes in minutes later. "Hello, Beth." He says.

"Hi," I reply.

"So, you're probably dreading the parade tonight," he remarks. I nod, agreeing.

"I'm going to be a grain stalk, aren't I?" I ask.

He laughs and shakes his head. "No, I've got something a little more elegant in mind."

Soon, I am dressed in a very gorgeous dress. Instead of making me a literal grain stalk, he has taken the colour of the grain – a gold-like colour – and made a beautiful dress. Though it is short – it reaches just past the top of my thighs – I love it. He's made it out of a shiny material that shimmers when light hits it.

He goes light on the makeup, just putting a few highlights here and there. He uses all neutral colours.

"This is so much better than I thought it would be," I mutter. He laughs, agreeing.

"We want to show you off. Dressing you up like grain won't do that, but seeing a beautiful tribute will."

I offer him a rare smile. "Thank you."

Gerard escorts me to the basement of the Training Centre, where we'll get on our chariots. All the tributes have begun to line up already, and I can't help but notice the stunning costumes. Some are outlandish, of course – like the tributes from District 10, who are dressed as cows – and some are outright incredible, like the bejeweled costumes from District 1.

I pat the team of horses who will drive our chariot – two beautiful palominos – until I hear Glenn arrive. "We match," he says. He's dressed in a suit made of the same material as my dress.

"So we do. Its better than being dressed up as grain stalks," I remark. He nods in agreement.

We're then told to get on our chariot and are lined up with all the other tributes. The others – most notably, the Career tributes from Districts 1,2 and 4 – look stunning. This doesn't come as a surprise, as the wealthier districts get the best stylists. I look behind me, to check out the last few groups. Poor District 12. They're dressed in coal miner uniforms again.

We don't have long to take in the others, as the music begins and the parade starts. We're paraded around the city square, much to the delight of the Capitol citizens. The tribute parade is important for winning sponsors – the residents will sponsor and bet on the tributes who they think look the best.

It doesn't take long for us to reach the centre of the square. As the roaring applause dies down, President Snow stands up and starts his speech.

"Happy Hunger Games. To our stylists, your efforts tonight are to be commended," he begins. The spectators cheer, but are silenced. "To our residents, I sincerely hope you have enjoyed this year's parade and perhaps have found your favourite tributes. To our mentors, welcome back to the Capitol. We are always delighted to have such a highly skilled group among us." The mentors are sitting with the stylists in the bleachers. "And to our tributes, welcome. You all look fantastic. Tomorrow, your training for the Hunger Games will begin. This is a very important stage in the Games, for many of you it will be the difference between life and death. But for tonight, let us celebrate your arrival in the Capitol!"

With the last words of his speech comes a final round of thundering applause. The crowd emerges from the bleachers into the city square and loud music blares from nearby speakers. The music in the Capitol is nothing like that at home – here music is loud and jarring, while music at home is meant to be quiet and soothing.

Our horses are taken by Capitol staff, presumably back to their stables. I try to go back in the training centre – I have no will to party, or to talk to these people who long for my death. Unfortunately, my mentor Alexis intercepts me. She won the Games when I was five.

"Where are you going?" she asks me.

"Inside, to my room," I reply shortly.

"This party is for you tributes. If you're not there, potential sponsors will notice. Go out there, make some 'friends'. It'll help you in the arena," she tells me.

I scowl as I realize she's telling the truth – these people could mean the difference between my life and death. "Okay. I'll go," I tell her. She nods, approvingly, and leads me out into the crowd.

I stay there for hours, eating some rich Capitol desserts that have been brought out and sipping something called champagne. I put on my most dazzling smile and try to win over as many people as I can. It seems to work, for the most part.

I'm exhausted by the time the tributes are expected to say their goodnights to the crowd. But don't worry – we'll be back in about four days for our live interviews.

Until then, I have to train.


End file.
